Something that Matters
by KymmaRaven
Summary: Five minutes. Five days. Time evenly spread between five little moments. But even moments as short as these could have SOME meaning, he supposed. Sometimes, those moments are the only ones worth counting. [A friendship fic, but also not quite. Rated simply because mentions of hatred may not be suitable for the youngest of this site's young audiences. ONESHOT.]


**Moment One: Monday**

Randall hated how obviously tired and thirsty he was. The foremost of his right feet tapped impatiently on the floor. Both of his pairs of arms were crossed tightly. His slender tail swished irritably from side to side. The coffee machine was taking too _long_. He had precious minutes to spare before beginning his work for the day. If this continued, then he might honestly just-

Before that thought could even be finished, tie machine finally finished its job. Snatching the cup like it was about to be stolen from him, he jammed a lid onto it and turned to head to his scarefloor and personal station (as he really had no time left to drink this now and would have to drink it during whatever breaks he ended up getting). But, of course, these Mondays just hated _everyone_ , didn't they? Everyone except for a certain tall furry horned monster, it would seem. The two monsters unexpectedly collided when Sullivan came practically barreling around the corner, seeming intent on going somewhere or doing something before the day truly began. The collision popped the lid off of Randall's cup. In an instant, there was coffee everywhere. All over Rabdall, all over the floor... but not on Sullivan. Oh, no. Of course not.

The coffee burned Randall's scales, being as fresh out of the machine as it was, and Sullivan was actually... genuinely apologizing? Seemingly only seconds later, a fresh cup of coffee was being pressed into Randall's first pair of hands. Then Sullivan was gone, hurrying off to wherever it was that he'd been going before. Pain and confusion blurred maddeningly, melding together in some weird way in his sleep-deprived mind as he stood there awkward and alone in the hall. There was no real time left to contemplate this mildly bizzare turn of events, however. It was time for work to begin.

 **Moment Two: Tuesday**

Obviously Randall was going insane. There was no other explanation he could give himself as to why he was even here, in the cafeteria at his workplace. He normally never ventured in here for several reasons. One, he had too much work to do to be wasting time eating. Two, it was crowded and he hated crowds. And three, on the topic of hatred, he was pretty well hated by everyone in this company. Not that he exactly expected or even wanted them to be his _chums_ , but it would have at least made situations like this more bearable, if only to a certain small degree.

Vivid memories of past bullying (none of which had really stopped until the day he graduated college and left " _Randy_ " behind for good) flooded his mind against his will as he tensely pushed his tray along, just wanting to get his food and scramble back to some semblance of safety in a much more quiet area. He wanted to escape and was resisting the urge to just vanish, especially when someone roughly shoved him without provocation for at least the third time. Comments swirled around him, running the gamut from simply just rude and distasteful to downright vicious and slicing. Normally he would have fought back (and rather fiercely), but today he just wasn't feeling it. He was too hungry.

Another hurricane of sharp words was hurled his way as he was _finally_ given his _slop_ of a meal. That hurricane didn't die down until by far _the_ most unlikely person in the world (or at least the company) suddenly stepped in. "Come on, lay off him," Wazowski muttered flatly, prompting Randall to quickly turn his head and look at the small green monster in something akin to shock. Wazowski never once looked over, instead to just focus his single eye on his own meal *which he was still in the process of acquiring). "Just let the guy eat." The room gradually fell silent, as though everyone was expecting a fight, expecting Randall to bristle at the help or _something_. Maybe some other day, but not today.

Taking the silence as his cue to bolt and not wanting to drag this out _any_ longer than it already had, Randall promptly turned tail and very nearly ran out of the room. Once back out in the safety and solitude of a nearby hall, he glanced at the nearest clock and promptly stared at it in disbelief. How only a minute could have gone by through that whole ordeal was unkown to him.

 **Moment Three: Wednesday**

Torture. That's what these social situations _really_ were. Absolute, genuine torture. Why was he even here? This co-worker get-together (most people were actually referring to it as a "party") was a sorry thing to observe. Everyone was crammed together in a small room, there was hardly enough food for them all, punch was the only drink available, there wasn't any music (what kind of a party didn't have _music_?), Waternoose had decided to show up... the list of reasons why this party was awful (to say the least) just went on and on. This was a waste of a lunch hour, as far as Randall was concerned.

Why was he even _here_ , especially considering how _unwanted_ his presence was? _Seriously_ , was he turning into some kind of masochist or something now? He was beginning to doubt that there was any other possible explanation for this. Shaking his head, he turned to leave. As he began to move, he saw Sullivan (who was standing by and speaking with Waternoose, as usual) turn as well and flash him the briefest and barest of smiles. Frowning to cover up how puzzeled he actually was, Randall turned fully away and left the room, taking his half-drained Styrofoam cup with him.

 **Moment Four: Thursday**

The numbers on the board on the scarefloor rose higher and higher and higher as the scarers worked their "magic" in the human world. As always, Sullivan was at the top. However, this was one of those rare few days when Randall actually _wasn't_ constantly keeping half of his attention on that board and those accursed numbers that haunted him all too often when he didn't have other things (however minor or petty) to think about. Instead, he focused solely on his work. Door after door after door was provided to him. Canister after canister after canister was filled and sent away. He worked, and he worked, and he worked until his tired mind almost genuinely thought that that old saying was true and his tail would fall off. But that was ridiculous.

Voices unexpectedly calling his name along with Sullivan's startled him enough that he jumped and turned invisible on reflex. Muttering a curse of irritation at himself, he made himself visible again and saw various monsters gesturing excitedly to the leaderboard. Looking up, he squinted at the numbers and was just barely able to make out his and Sullivan's newest scores. For the first time ever, he was sitting at only one point behind his rival. It was the closest he'd ever been, save for those seven or so sweet seconds when he'd actually managed to surpass the furry monster not too long ago. It was a rare thing when he genuinely felt pleased with himself, and he savored the feeling.

A hand suddenly clapped him on the back as a small green figure walked by and toward Sullivan. "Not bad, Randy."

In light of this simple and seemingly innocent statement, Randall stared and stared and stared after Mike Wazowski's retreating form. He was unable to believe what he had just heard, and he had to remind himself to become visible again. God, when had he started becoming so jumpy again? He thought that habit had died after college, after graduation. Surely it _had_ died. Along with something... something else. Something he sometimes wondered about the importance of. Suddenly, he remembered smiling transparently false smiles, wearing glasses that he constantly had to push up back onto his face, a feeling of worthlessness that had never once let him be until he'd finally made something of himself... But just as quickly, it was all gone. He turned his back on the memories and moved to go through the next door.

He hadn't been "Randy" in years.

 **Moment Five: Friday**

Randall had always liked parties. He had to admit to himself that this was the truth. Granted, he wasn't fond of being surrounded by people he barely knew (if he happened to know them at all), but he liked free food, free drinks, and music. Loud music. Especially when that music had a great beat. Not that he would ever _dance_ to it, because he never danced, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it. He just hoped that he would actually have the time to enjoy the music today. After all, he had a lot of work to attend to tomorrow (meaning he couldn't stay up _too_ late tonight), and college reunion or not, he doubted that he would be especially welcome here. Taking a deep breath, he stared at the door leading to the large club where the party was currently taking place. He tried to convince himself to just go forward and walk in, but his feet felt rooted to the pavement in that very spot.

Sullivan walked by him then, offering one of those signature smiles of encouragement in the process. Normally, Randall would have bristled at the implication that he even _needed_ encouragement, but he was secretly too nervous to do so this time around. He tried to think of something to say, anything to relieve the tension in the pit of his belly (he'd always found that a good verbal spat was a great way to get his mind off of worse things), but he faltered and too soon Sullivan was gone. Too little, too late. He was alone outside again.

Without any warning, a second later arrival suddenly walked up the pavement, speaking as he walked. "Hey, coming to the party too, huh?"

Turning his head somewhat, Randall fixed Wazowski with a vaguely challenging look that probably looked as forced as it felt. "And if I am?" he asked, tone lacking the venom he had tried to create. He cursed his transparency, even as his scales remained as purple and visible as ever.

Wazowski just smiled, almost _knowingly_ , and continued walking. His pace never faltered as he called back over his shoulder almost _too_ casually, "Stay out of trouble, wildman."

Momentarily taken about though he was as the walking eyeball disappeared inside, Randall soon found himself finally moving forward as he had planned to all along. He shook his head, a mixture of derision and perhaps even amusement as he murmured to himself, "'Wildman'." Smirking just slightly, just enough that he could feel himself doing it even if others couldn't necessarily see, he pushed the doors open and finally, finally stepped inside.

* * *

 **1,845 words this time. Welp, here it is, my first Monsters Inc./Monsters University fanfic. I never realized until just a few days ago just how much I actually love Randall's character, especially just how tragic his story seems to be (what with the obvious lack of real friends and whatnot, save for Mike at one point). So, as I usually do, I took my love of a character and put it into a story. And yes, there were a few blatant and not so blatant references to Monsters University in this fic. The last two spoken lines in this story just so happen to be direct quotes from early on in the movie. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed! I plan on writing more fics for this universe and character in the near future. Posted (at about 7:25 p.m.) 08-23-16.**


End file.
